


So Out of Sync

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Jem and the Holograms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-23
Updated: 2004-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stormer's budding romance may lead to a lot of female-bonding and togetherness by the Misfits. Or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Out of Sync

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJC

 

 

When it came right down to it, Stormer wasn't sure why she said yes.

She didn't like Riot much, after all. She'd always been immune to his famous charisma (except for that one moment last night, when his hair had shone around his head like gold and for one moment hadn't seemed laughable at all, and his eyes had glittered and her heart had pounded like a girl in one of those dreadful romance novels Jetta secretly hoarded, but then she'd had a hell of a lot of champagne that night). Stormer despised the way Riot treated women. The way Minx and Rapture clung to his fake-tanned biceps and cooed and flattered set her teeth on edge and made her want to smash things, and when she thought about that passive, clingy _thing_ he had almost succeeded in making of fiery, bitchy, glorious Pizzazz, to whom men were normally something to crush under her stiletto heel. Stormer hated him for almost destroying the Misfits. She loathed the fact that Misfits Music was now Stingers Sound, that the Misfits were now something second-stream, that even Jem seemed to have forgotten about them as a real threat.

And she really, really didn't trust Riot.

For all that, she'd fiddled with the silk flower in her hair for a moment, then laughed and said: "Why not? Sounds like a blast."

After all, it wasn't as if the Misfits had been invited to the party. It would be... good PR for the Misfits. Yes. Wasn't Pizzazz always telling Eric, after a particularly stern lecture, that any publicity was good publicity? And a bit of attention would be nice.

Nice? It was glorious. She'd forgotten what it was like to have attention from journalists because they really wanted a picture of her, not just because she'd smashed something. The dress was gorgeous, the creation of Minx's latest pet designer, and having Jem - _Jem!_ Beautiful, adored Jem who had humiliated Stormer and her friends over and over - look at her with resentful envy was fun, There was even a touch of guilty pleasure in Kimber's bewildered hurt look, after so many evenings establishing herself in Kimber's room with romantic plans in mind and instead spending the night hearing about Jeff and Sean and that boy in the record shop, wondering if it would be more worthy of a Misfit to kill herself or Kimber first.

Part of her wanted to go over and kiss Kimber back into smiles. Instead she let Riot put his arms around her, flashing that white-teeth smile that somehow seemed far less obnoxious, and raised her face to be kissed as cameras flashed around them.

That was pretty much glorious, too.

Almost worth the inevitable explosion in the morning.

After all, there was more than one kind of explosion.

* * *

The atmosphere in the Misfits Mansion had been bad enough before Jetta had suggested that Roxy shouldn't be allowed to use words she couldn't spell, adding sweetly that silence was golden, duckies. Silence had indeed followed, but it was only precious because Stormer had a fair idea what would follow once Roxy had processed the insult. She suspected it had something to do with a saxophone being forcibly inserted up a certain pseudo-aristocratic derriere.

Stormer could just shut up, sit tight and watch it happen. Stormer could let Jetta and Roxy rip each other apart and sneak out while the going was clear, thereby postponing the inevitable by quite a few hours. Stormer could... Well, all she really had to do was not step in and provide a distraction.

Sometimes having to be the sweet one really, really sucked.

"Um, but, Roxy, what does this have to do with consciousness anyway? And I don't understand where the Leatherettes come into it," Stormer added uncertainly, choking down the treacherous thought that if Pizzazz found out that Roxy had been hanging around with those girls again, at least some of the fallout would miss Stormer. For some reason, Pizzazz tended to really come down heavily on that particular association. It might have just been that Pizzazz liked her girls friendless and under her influence alone, but there seemed to be an added bitterness when it came to Roxy's tendency to fit in so well with a group of leather clad butch bikies.

Stormer thought about what Roxy might mean when she said the Leatherettes need to take care of Stormer's consciousness, and swallowed hard. There was no getting around the disloyal thought that she should have stayed with Kim - with the Holograms. There was something said for not being in Pizzazz's band when that particular story hit. Jem might be all reproachfully liquid violet eyes when she saw _Cool Trash_ 's cover spread, but at least Stormer would retain use of all her limbs.

"Maybe... Maybe Pizzazz won't find out," Stormer said, but without much assurance. Pizzazz liked to start her day with a fresh cup of coffee in bed and a pile of the latest tabloids to scan for mentions of herself, followed by the coffee smashing against the wall while she screamed obscenities against Jem for hogging media attention.

"Oh, don't worry, ducks." The silver light in Jetta's weirdly coloured eyes - contact lenses, Stormer suspected, although she'd never caught her without them - glinted as brightly as the streaks in her black hair. "If all else fails, I'll lag on you."

Stormer decided that next time Pizzazz decided to use the Misfits to pick up some hot chick in a night club, she'd damn well listen to Roxy and get out of there. No matter how cute the accent of the hot chick in question.

"F-fine," she snapped, hoping that she was managing something passably Misfit-like in terms of defiance. "You tell Pizzazz whatever you like. I'm going to - I'm going out."

She flounced out of the room, leaving an awkward silence behind her. Jetta finally picked up the magazine from where it had fallen when Roxy tossed it against the wall in a fit of rage, carefully examining the picture of Stormer locked in the arms of a Fabio clone. "Our darling ducky Pizzazz is going to eat her alive," she said, somewhat amused. "Oh, no, wait, that's _your_ fantasy, isn't it, love?"

It said much for Roxy's preoccupation that the crack only drew forth a grunt, not instant violent death. "'Zazz's gonna kill her. After all, that's _her_ Riot." She fairly spit the words out. "Thought Stormer had more taste."

Jetta shrugged. "Don't see the appeal myself, and I'd hardly expect _you_ to, but Pizzazz doesn't seem to agree with you." She sighed and looked up at Roxy. If there was one thing the two girls agreed on, it was the general undesirability and danger posed by the current co-owner of their record label. "S'pose we couldn't just let Pizzazz kill her?"

"Nah." Roxy sighed. "Not that she don't deserve it, but you know that we need the little wuss." She pulled back masses of snowy hair, clicking it into place with a barrette. "I'm gonna go get my bike and talk to my girls. We'll fix it."

"Like hell," Jetta told her retreating back. She wouldn't, she told herself, trust Roxy to fix a drink. But then, she had her own ideas.

She glanced down at her outfit. Combat pants and red tank top, just fine for convincing Pizzazz that Jetta was some kind of hard-core London punk, but for what she had in mind, something more... seductive.. might be called for.

Besides, she didn't particularly want to be around when Pizzazz woke up and read her morning papers.

A fire engine shriek rang out, and Jetta winced. Too late. The best thing to do was exit the mansion quickly, and hope the first person Pizzazz got hold of was Eric. He could take it. Or not.

Jetta didn't really care either way.

** ** **

Some hours later, Stormer sat very still, trying not to show how nervous she was about being in a room with a group of leather-wearing Amazons. They were being suspiciously nice to her, though, even Roxy. Understanding. The night with Riot had been a mistake, they understood, and Stormer hadn't quite realised what it meant to betray her sisterhood. They were going to help her with that. They were going to help her realise the wonderful gift she'd been blessed with in becoming a woman, so that she wouldn't waste it on scum like Riot.

It was nice that Roxy had friends of her own, friends that didn't involve going back to Philadelphia and joining a gang and putting Pizzazz in a bad mood for weeks. Stormer sometimes worried about her. It was just that Roxy's friends were a little... alarming.

She fingered the object she'd just been handed, blood rushing hotly into her face.

"You - you want me to look at _what_ with this mirror?"

** ** **

Clash would sit still and listen with flattering attention to anything, so long as the person telling her was a Misfit. The fact that it was a half-dressed Misfit lounging on her bed was only extra-delicious chocolate frosting on a very well-baked cake.

The only trouble was that she seemed to be having difficulty comprehending the problem. Telling her that Stormer had been caught with a man and that Pizzazz didn't like it went with a swing; Clash didn't like the thought of any of _her_ Misfits being caught with a man. She'd help along their romantic pursuits as requested, of course, but it was with a rather endearing air of self-sacrifice.

She was only having difficulty with the idea that it was Riot.

"But - Riot is chasing after Stormer? It couldn't be..."

"It's sickening that a Misfit would scoop up Jem's leavings, isn't it?" Jetta sympathised.

"Oh, I suppose so... but... _Riot_?"

Jetta shrugged. "Stormer's got more guts than I thought, going up against Pizzazz."

"Of course she has guts, she's a Misfit, but - _Riot_?"

Jetta was becoming a little annoyed. "And why not? Think Stormer's less attractive than the pink-haired witch or those two bleached blondes he hangs out with?"

Clash gave her an appealingly helpless look. "Jetta you know I don't - she's a _Misfit._ " Her tone made it clear that she felt that answered any question of their attractiveness, and Jetta felt her mood improve a little. "It's just that, well, he wears a frilly shirt and a lace garter on his tricep."

"I see what you mean, love. He does make David Bowie look like James bloody Bond, at that. About as likely to be straight as y - as Roxy."

Clash flushed and gave her a defiant look, and Jetta laughed. "Poor Stormer. I guess she's going after the next best thing to a bird, right?" She sat up a little and wound an arm around Clash's lycra-clad waist. "It breaks my heart, Clash, because her own is going to be broken, and I know you wouldn't want that to happen to a Misfit, would you?"

"What can I do?"

Jetta grinned. She was many things, but above all, she was an opportunist. Of course, the situation was somewhat grave, but no one could blame a girl for taking certain advantage of a situation, and Clash really was the cutest and most devoted little groupie ever. So long as she remembered her place.

"Let me give you a few hints, dear old thing," she purred.

** ** **

Stormer locked the door of her room behind her, not so much now as to keep Pizzazz out as to keep out Roxy and her friends. She had never... in all her life... her head was reeling. And then she'd sneaked into Kimber's room - she didn't technically have to do so, and Pizzazz was likely to kill her whether she visited openly or not, but it always seemed more Misfit-like to make some kind of clandestine drama out of it than to ring the front door bell and have Jerrica make her a cup of tea - and Kimber had refused to talk to her. It wasn't fair.

All over one kiss, one night of feeling like a star instead of the _songwriter._ Stormer let her head flop against the door. Riot had really made her feel like a princess for a moment, not like the girl who tagged along while Pizzazz played wicked queen and Roxy did the evil adviser thing. Even Jetta, who rocked up from nowhere, managed to get more attention than Stormer did. In her darkest moments Stormer suspected that Clash would make a better Misfit than she did. And without the Misfits...

And Riot hadn't called. Either that or one of the other girls had picked up, so he might as well not have...

"Stormer?"

She wasn't really surprised that the locks on her door didn't achieve much, but she'd expected it to be Pizzazz breaking down the door, not Clash seated somewhat nervously on her bed.

"What do you want, Clash?" She was too tired and confused to speak kindly, and for a moment there she sounded as impatient and hostile as Pizzazz on a day when she just couldn't be bothered with admirers.

"Um." It wasn't like Clash to be quite so self-effacing. She was usually very loud and rambunctious in a kind of adoring way, and Stormer was curious.

"What's up?" she asked, more sweetly.

"Jetta wanted me to, um, do something for you."

"What, she's too busy to run her own blackmail this time?" Stormer asked wearily.

"No, it's... ah... Oh, hell, let me show you."

Clash had always been a handy type; disguises, inventions, explosions, that kind of thing. She had a talent for practical demonstration. By the time the door burst open again, she had reached quite an advanced stage in the lesson.

**** ** ****

Eric leaned back in his chair, reflecting that it had been a much better day than he'd suspected when he opened the pile of tabloids sent to his desk, a process he never achieved without several stiff drinks and prayers to what ever gods cared about a poor, innocent man trying to pay off a modest mansion in Majorca. None, he often suspected, or they wouldn't have sent him Pizzazz.

Happy thoughts, he instructed himself, happy thoughts. Starlight Mansion burning to the ground, and Jerrica discovering she had no insurance. Harvey Gabor disinheriting his daughter and leaving her dependent on Stingers Sound for her income. The immigration police catching up with Raya... and Jetta for good measure. Happy, happy thoughts...

The problem was, his neon-haired songstress had utterly failed to turn up in Stingers Sound screeching abuse and throwing things. By late afternoon, his nerve broke, and against his own best instincts he phoned the Gabor Mansion himself.

"Whadd'ya want, Eric?"

Hardly a friendly greeting, but not a homicidal one, either. Eric knew he should hang up, but instead some masochistic instinct made him ask: "How's the love life going, Pizzazz?"

"Why are you interested?"

 _Hang up, hang up,_ he told himself. "I heard that Stormer..."

"Lousy little brat." Pizzazz still sounded remarkably cheerful. "Always told her it was a mistake to encourage the fans too much. Now she'll be hanging around underfoot all the time."

She never bothered with formalities like saying goodbye at the end of a call. Eric was left staring at his receiver, wondering what the hell Pizzazz was talking about.

Still, his own violent death hadn't figured in the conversation, nor the dreaded words "My Riot", and the Misfits still seemed to have a songwriter, so...

Humming "All's Right With the World" to himself, Eric returned to the task of making sure the profits on the gloriously short-lived Misfits Supergroup went nowhere near any Holograms or Stingers, as he had promised his girls. They weren't going to the Misfits, either, but then no one could have everything they wanted, even Pizzazz.

****

** ** ** 

"Riot, tell me again how fabulous you are," drawled Minx, arranging an errant lock of her golden hair so that it hung just exactly so. Rapture looked up from her new set of divination cards and managed to look raptly interested as well. "What, again, is this so-useful American word - beard?"

**The End**

> Disclaimer and AN: This is a work of fanfiction. Character belong to Hasbro/Sunbeam, and I make no claim to them. The title is taken form the lyrics of the Stingers song, "Are You Feeling Alright?"

 


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